The Serpent's Wench
by GrapeLeaf
Summary: Jack meets his true love. Pre-movie.


"Jack," she says, clinging to his arm as she tries to keep up with his long stride, "which d'ye like better: rum, or me? And be honest!"  
  
Jack stops walking and pivots on his heel to face her. With his free hand, he strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I'd say that I like you just as much as you like me, and rum just as much as you like gold. Rum very much more than you like me, and as you like gold ever so much more than you like me, that makes us square, at least." He looks her dead in the eyes, because women like that, and smiles. "Savvy?"  
  
She takes a minute to think about it, then decides that it's not worth thinking about as it must have been a compliment, and she smiles back and nods vigorously.  
  
Satisfied with himself, Jack pivots forward again, his arm still linked with hers, and continues walking the muddy paths of Tortuga. Tortuga, though still rowdy and plenty interesting, seems somehow quiet on this night. There are screams, laughs, and cries of all sorts, to be sure, but Jack can sense a stillness underneath it all that he's never been aware of before. He gives it a moment's thought and wonders if anyone else feels it, then decides to ignore it. Certainly the girl he's with doesn't notice it.  
  
He's doing well with this wench, he reckons, especially since he can't remember her name. That's nearly fair, as he hasn't told her his surname. Although, he hasn't told it to anyone and he's sure that no one who knew him as a child would remember him now, so it's not that she's somehow special for not knowing his surname, as no one he can think of does. And after all, she does know his first name and he still doesn't know hers. He hopes that he's not required to say it at some point, or worse, to shout it. Nothing worse than saying the wrong name at an inopportune time. She must have told it to him at some point during their little chat, but thus far he's gotten along quite well by addressing her as "Missy." This makes her giggle, and Jack guesses that it's because it makes her feel younger than she is. Or at least younger than he is.  
  
Jack feels young himself on this night. Though he can't remember exactly how long he's been aboard this great, lovely old world, he figures it's somewhere close to thirty years or such. His father's been dead for twenty or maybe twenty five of these years, and he knows he was only a boy when the old pirate had swung--only tall enough to rest his chin on the floor of the gallows. Thus Jack guesses he must be thirty or close to it, though he does feel much younger, and there are only two things to bother him on this exceedingly humid night. The first is the fact that he doesn't like the hat he's wearing. He'd nicked it off someone much larger than he is, and it keeps on sliding down over his eyes. Sure and it covers his hair well enough, and that's a good thing, as he's not fond of his hair. Some older pirate has recently told Jack that his hair was fine and silky, like the hair of a lass, and Jack has since become aware of what it looks and feels like. He's decided to cover it up until he can get it to look good and interesting.   
  
His second and most pressing bothersome issue is that he's not yet found a worthy ship to captain. When he thinks of the fact that, at thirty or close to it, he's not yet been captain of a worthy ship, he feels as though his good spirits are sinking into the crushing depths, and he must quickly cheer himself with other thoughts. Thoughts of rum and skirts and gold and, as always, his mistress and savior the sea.  
  
The girl beside him suddenly grabs the hat from his head. He turns to see why she's done that. She doesn't look angry or as if she's about to throw it in his face or slap him. Instead she's smiling. This, he figures, must be one of those games that wenches like to play. Jack raises an eyebrow. "I'll have that back when you're done inspecting it, Missy."  
  
She waves it about teasingly. "Why don't ye come and get it, pirate?"  
  
Jack smiles back at her. He doesn't particularly want it back, but he's up for a game, if it's what she wants. "Aye, but there's no challenge in that, now is there? I could snatch it out of your dainty little hand before you even thought to pull it away. Now, had you hidden it somewhere...somewhere on your person, mayhap, why, that might prove to be more of a challenge for ol' Jack. Aye?"  
  
She considers this while Jack waits. Apparently it takes her a while to figure out what he means. He rolls his eyes. "If you were to hide it somewhere on your person where I couldn't see it," he offers.  
  
She brightens, and hides it behind her back. "Come and get it!"  
  
Jack sighs patiently. Reaching around her might be fun, but she's missing such a delightful opportunity. "Say, if you were to hide it somewhere on your person so's I'd have to rustle around, like, to retrieve it from you."  
  
Slowly, her brow furrowing, she brings it back to her front and peers down her bodice as well as she can. "'Twon't fit," she says.  
  
"Lower, luv," he guides.  
  
As she's thinking this over, a man falls from the balcony behind her and lands with a splashy thump. She turns to see what has happened, and Jack lunges at her and grabs the hat back. Before she can react, he's pulled her skirts up and stuck the hat under them, folding her underskirts beneath it. He backs away and waggles his eyebrows at her.  
  
She squeals and laughs, holding the hat in place under her skirt. "Now come and get it, pirate!" she says, and turns to run.  
  
But Jack has caught her by the arm and swings her back around, so that the hat falls onto the muddy ground. *Well,* he thinks as he bunches all of her skirts up in his hands, *at least it was good for something.*  
  
"Where could it be?" Jack says, getting on his knees. His clothes are getting muddier by the second, but he doesn't care. He shoves his head under her dress and makes a big show of looking around.  
  
"Shame on you, Jack!" she says, giggling.  
  
"Yes," Jack agrees, pulling idly at her knickers, "a great deal of shame upon me. Fumbling about under the skirts of such a proper..."  
  
He doesn't finish the thought, nor even remember having begun it, because a sudden, salty gust has come from the shore. There is a scent on it that Jack doesn't recognize, but he is on his feet before he knows what he's doing or why, and he's staring in the direction of the docks.  
  
"Jack?" the girl says, but he barely hears her.  
  
Another wind comes from the sea, this one more insistent. Jack takes a staggering step towards it and doesn't register the low, lusty moan that has come from his own slack mouth.  
  
"Jack!" the girl snaps.  
  
"Uhhh..."  
  
"Finish what ye started, Jack!"  
  
There is a surly, disappointed sound to her voice, and somewhere in his haze he can hear it, but he doesn't know what it's for...or for that matter, who the wench is and why she's shouting at him. Everything that surrounds him is drowned out in the scent from the sea. All he knows is that there's something over the dark horizon, and he *must* see what it is.  
  
"Jack!" She swats him in the head with his hat, and gets his attention.  
  
"Aye?" The wind has died down. He finally turns back to her. "What? Missy! Why did you swat ol' Jack? Was that nice?"  
  
"Ye forgot all about me, Jack," she sulks. "We were having a game and you forgot your little Nellie!"  
  
He looks her over in the mixed light of the torches outside of the taverns and inns. Tortuga comes back to him with all its sights, sounds and smells. "Aye. Oh, aye, 'course we were, Nellie!" He laughs, and it's a shaky, spent sound, the likes of which he's never heard come from his own self before.  
  
She eyes him warily and fidgets with his hat. "What were you looking at there, Jack?"  
  
"Why, mermaids, Nellie." He waves his hand in the direction of the sea. "They sang to me for a moment."  
  
Her smile is hesitant; she's not sure if he's having her on. "Jack, mermaids aren't real," she says, and now the teasing lilt is back in her voice.  
  
"Oh? And what makes you believe in their lack of existence? Have you ever seen it?"  
  
She tilts her head like a questioning dog. Now that Jack looks closely at her, she does, in fact, remind him of some confused, pawing canine. Then her eyes light up and she clearly thinks she's got his logic trumped. "Well have you ever seen a mermaid?"  
  
"Ah, but you can't see mermaids, Missy. They're small. Tiny."  
  
She holds her thumb and forefinger close together and grins at him as she takes a step closer. "This big?"  
  
Jack pinches her fingers closer together. "Smaller. So small that you can't see them..." He stops to run the back of his fingers over her coarse cheek and lower his voice, and he imagines fire in his eyes, because women like that, too. "...with the naked eye." He's made sure to stress the word *naked*.  
  
She breathlessly takes a step closer and drops his hat again. "But ye know of things that are bigger, aye Jack?"  
  
This time it takes him a moment to figure out what she's talking about, but when he does, he recovers himself quickly. "Oh, yes," he breathes in a ridiculously husky voice. "Much...much..."  
  
Before he can finish his thought, the clouds open up and a sudden, torrential rain hammers Tortuga.  
  
Nellie squeals again, but this time she is not delighted. "It's raining!" she says.  
  
"You are terribly observant, Missy."  
  
"Come along, Jack!" She fumbles at his hand to try to drag him with her. "Jack, we're getting wet!" she cries, dismayed.  
  
"It's just weather, luv. That happens sometimes." But his attention is not entirely with her.  
  
"Ohh!" She stands a moment longer in the rain, reluctant to give up her opportunity for the night, as it's late and she doesn't want to go looking for another one. But the rain is starting to soak her dress, so finally she stalks off and leaves Jack, muttering something about "daft pirates."  
  
Jack sees her leave out of the corner of his eye, but she doesn't matter to him anymore. What does matter, however, is the rain. There is a taste on it, and it matches the scent he caught on the sea wind just before. He sticks his tongue out and catches the rain on his tongue.  
  
"Something's coming," he whispers to himself, and takes another step toward the docks.   
  
Everyone but those people who have drunk themselves into oblivion on the streets is running for cover; some of them are shrieking, some cursing the sudden downpour. The rain is coming in sheets now.  
  
Far off, and somewhere under the noise of Tortuga, Jack hears a low, thunderous sound. It comes from far beyond the horizon, but somehow it shakes him so deeply that it might as well have been right on top of him.  
  
He is vaguely aware that he has tried to say something, perhaps in answer to the sound. Then the black horizon pitches out of his vision and he suddenly sees the sky, and rain glinting in dim firelight. His eyes are closed before he hits the ground.  
  
The next thing Jack is aware of is that there is an awful lot of noise, and someone has trodden on his hand. "Gah!" he shouts, and sits up, his back to the harbor. "Blast, will you watch where you're..."  
  
But the person who has carelessly trodden on him is long gone, and more are coming his way. It's morning, but the sky is dark and the wind is screaming through the town. It's still raining and Jack is so soaked in mud that he might as well have been swimming in it.   
  
A few women are squealing and running to get out of the rain and the men are shouting; they are all soaked and covered in mud as well, and they run, seemingly aimlessly, through the streets. They're frustrated and nervous, but excited nonetheless. It takes a lot for Tortuga to go into hiding; the screaming and running are part of the experience. Mayhem, he thinks, might be the objective. Nothing like a good hurricane to liven things up.  
  
Grinning, Jack gets to his feet. The people of Tortuga are directionless and paying him no mind. Jack is in his element.  
  
He's surprised when someone grabs his arm and pulls him out of the street; together he and this stranger stagger behind some barrels outside of an inn. Jack looks beside him to see an old sailor with whom he'd chatted the previous night, before he'd gotten himself immersed in fascinating conversation with Nellie.  
  
"What's the word, my able-bodied seaman?" Jack asks, raising his voice above the din.  
  
"Ye'll be wanting to take cover, lad, and stay covered. None of this running about and screaming. Folks think it's a hurricane, but t'ain't a normal one. There's a ship in the harbor; don't want to be seen by her."  
  
Jack is standing up all of a sudden and taking a step away from cover, though he doesn't know why. The man beside him grabs his arm and pulls him back down.  
  
"I said stay covered, are you deaf or daft?"  
  
"Did I almost sleep through a raid?" Jack asks.  
  
"It's no raid. The ship in the harbor's flying pirate colors, but I'll be betting that her men are running from her, with nothing in mind other than to leave her."  
  
Jack turns his head so quickly to look at the sailor that he hears his neck crack. "Why's that?"  
  
The sailor's eyes darken, but in them there is also a clear passion for telling the story. "That out there's the *Serpent's Wench*. Heard tell of her for months now, but ne'er believed it till I seen it. No one can rightly say who built her or where she makes berth. Most now believe she rose out of the sea of her own accord."  
  
Jack raises his eyebrows. For once, he doesn't have anything to say.  
  
"Many a pirate's tried to sail her, lad. But have a look--cautious, now--at her sails."  
  
Jack stands up slowly and leans around the side of the inn to see the ship in the harbor. All at once he feels as if the ground has been pulled out behind him. He tries to take a step, but the barrels are blocking his way.  
  
"Aye, she's a sight," says the sailor, still crouching beside him. "Black sails; black for all the captains she's killed. She'll take a crew, lad, and mos'ly they live. And she'll take a captain. But she won't return him to shore. Or so they say, and I believe it."  
  
At least part of it seems to be true; there are pirates coming *from* the dock, and they don't seem to be raiding, either. Just leaving, and in a hurry.   
  
Jack sidesteps the barrels and swipes the sailor's hand away as he reaches for him.  
  
"You don't want to be going out there, lad!"  
  
"Shush," Jack says, too quietly for the sailor to hear him.  
  
He stands in the middle of the street and faces the great black ship floating off shore. She would be pristine if not for the ragged hole in her side. It makes him want to cringe, looking at that hole.  
  
The wind whips his clothes around and sticks them to his body. It might nearly be a hurricane, but Jack can't be bothered to notice it; he is transfixed. He takes one faltering step towards the ship, and then another. He feels very much like the needle of a compass, except that inside, he is nowhere near as still as a compass. His heart is beating like mad. People are going *away* from the ship, and he can't understand that. They're leaving her, brushing past him but not actually touching him, as he walks single-mindedly forward.  
  
A violently strong gust of wind makes her sails flap so sharply that they make a loud *crack!* sound, and Jack feels all the muscles in his chest and stomach pull in on themselves with longing. His breath is drawn out of him in a long groan.  
  
*Mine*, he thinks.  
  
One of the pirates who is walking dejectedly away from her stops in front of Jack and puts a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Don't bother, mate," he says wearily. "Ship's bad luck. Killed ev'ry captain she had. Going to sink the blasted thing."  
  
Jack looks away from the ship to the pirate, horrified. "You're not!" he says.  
  
"'Tis lucky we were even able to bring her in. Aye, she's a beautiful ship, but we've got to be rid of her."  
  
Jack smiles slowly. "D'you really believe that you can?" he asks.  
  
The pirate looks at the man he's talking to--finally really looks at him--and his eyes widen a bit. He shakes his head almost in understanding. "You're out of your..."  
  
"Move," Jack says, and shoves him aside.  
  
He runs now, splashing through the mud and laughing to himself at all these sorry bastards who are giving up their beautiful ship because they believe in bad luck.  
  
Finally he reaches the docks and stops for a moment to look up. She stands tall and sharp against the dark sky, imperious, but not cold. He climbs into one of the discarded rowboats and rows out to meet her.  
  
If he'd had any doubts that he was safe, they would have been quelled the moment he laid hands on her. He boards her gently, surprised at how sleek she is everywhere he touches her.   
  
When he is finally standing on her deck, he almost can believe that she hasn't been made by men. That she has, in fact, come from the sea, like a dark, shining treasure.  
  
Suddenly the name *Serpent's Wench* strikes him as both silly and insulting. This ship is no one's wench.  
  
A steady, dripping sound calls to Jack's attention the fact that the wind and rain have both died down. It must have happened gradually and he hadn't noticed it. The rainwater is dripping onto the deck, and the sound is calming. Jack turns to admire the sails, but instead staggers backward in surprise with his hand over his racing heart.  
  
It seems that she found her last captain disagreeable, because he is pinioned to the deck by a sharp piece of wood that must have come at him like a projectile in the storm. Jack makes his way carefully over to the dead man; a few steps closer, then to the side, crablike, in case he should really not be dead, and spring up to have a go at Jack. When he reaches the body he nudges it with his foot and then springs back. Men could be clever with their traps sometimes.  
  
He's taking precautions, but he's certain that the man is dead. He cringes in disgust when he sees the gobs of blood that have dried around the former captain's mouth. "Bleh," he says, and decides to turn away.  
  
It seems to Jack as if he and this ship are alone in their own world now, ages and leagues away from Tortuga. There had been a girl and some sailors and a hat and a storm, but here and now is nothing but the strangely smooth deck beneath his feet and the gentle dripping sounds.   
  
Jack makes his way to the wheel. When he finally touches it--actually takes it in both hands at once, firmly--he feels his knees go watery and has to lean his head against the wheel to stay upright. He is smiling, though, and thinking that he could walk her deck all day and all night.  
  
*My ship. My ship.* A simple thought, humming in his mind, but one that carries so much weight. *Finally. My ship.*  
  
He looks up, now grinning and almost laughing, and spreads his arms wide. He turns once, looking at the sky and her black sails. *Black for all the captains she's killed.* He decides that she can keep those sails. They make her look fearsome and singular, and are likely very difficult to see after sunset.  
  
Then he turns back to the wheel and sees something hanging off the bottom of it by a leather string. Jack takes a swaying step back and scrutinizes it through hooded eyes, trying to decide if it really does look at all familiar, or if he is so overwrought that he's imagining things. Then he shifts his weight forward again and looks closer.  
  
"'Ello!" he says as he reaches out for the compass. "You can't be who I think you are."   
  
He pulls it free, turns it over, and is not entirely surprised that the initials "JS" are scratched into the back of it. "Why I'll be flogged and keelhauled...." he whispers, running his fingers over the edges of the compass that his father had given him when he'd been a much smaller sea rat. He'd lost it years ago and thought it long gone. "But how did you ever--" He stands up and looks over the ship again, perplexed and intrigued. Then he decides it is obviously a sign of good fortune, and goes back to looking at the compass. He has no idea how it came to be here or how long it's been here, but the rightness of it all fills him with such warmth and surety that he laughs softly. "Thanks to you for returning it to me. Though I wish I knew--"  
  
Jack stops talking to the ship and whirls around, reaching for the knife on his belt. He's heard something that could have been a normal creak of the deck, were it not for the fact that he's felt another presence aboard his ship. He slowly moves his hand away from the knife. Best to let the other one think that he's not inclined to use it, and keep the element of surprise.  
  
"No need to draw," says a soft voice from over the edge of the ship. "I mean ye no harm."  
  
"Come up then, where we can see you."  
  
A man hoists himself up the rail and swings his long legs over it. He lands, surefooted and straight-backed, on the wet deck. Jack looks him over warily. This man's got a neatly trimmed dark beard, dark blondish hair underneath a wide-brimmed hat, and clever blue eyes that are looking Jack over just as critically as Jack is looking at him. There is something about the way he carries himself that makes Jack think he is on the verge of either saying something or springing into sudden motion, though Jack can't tell which. Clearly there is a process going on behind those slatted eyes.  
  
"Thinkin' of commandeering this ship, are ye?" he asks suddenly.  
  
"I've already commandeered it," Jack says.  
  
The man looks him over again before answering. "Aye," he says; and Jack is beginning to think that everything that comes out of his mouth somehow sounds like a command. "Looks like ye've boarded her with no resistance."  
  
"Quite."  
  
"As have I." His eyes dart around the ship, and briefly to the ship's last captain. "And yonder dead man doesn't put the fear of bad luck into ye?"  
  
Jack permits himself a superior chuckle and waves it off. "I don't believe in bad luck, mate. This ship isn't cursed. She's just particular about who she wants as a captain."  
  
An almost imperceptible pause as the man weighs his possible responses, and then he chuckles, too. "Aye, so it seems."  
  
They watch each other for a moment, and Jack finds himself looking at the man's hat. It certainly is very wide, and does a fair job of shadowing his eyes. There's a feather in it, too, which Jack might find ridiculous on anyone else. But something about this man prevents him from being laughed at. "Love your hat," Jack says.  
  
"Why thank ye, lad," he says, and tips it toward Jack. He speaks slowly and drags out the middle of his words importantly, while the ends of his words run headlong into the beginnings of his next ones, as if all of his thoughts are hooked together. Jack can't decide if this makes him sound untrustworthy or merely crafty.   
  
Another long, awkward pause while Jack tries to figure out what this stranger wants with his ship. Finally, he decides to try the direct approach and just ask him. "Look, mate--"  
  
"They're going to try to sink her," the man says. "Unless someone can be her captain without this strange bad luck befalling him, she's of little use. What say ye to that?"  
  
Jack smiles, because he's found that confidence is often enough to offset the reality of the situation. "I say first that they'd have a hard time of it if they tried, because she wouldn't go down easy; second that there's no need to try, as she's found her captain; and third that those who are not fools are welcome to board and crew her again under my command."  
  
  
  
At this, the sails flap again, and this time Jack is careful to control his reaction to that sound. To be sure, he *wants* to melt with yearning and leap with joy both at once, but he checks his urges so's not to be at a disadvantage. He reckons that he'll have to get used to these feelings, as it wouldn't do to go into fits of ecstasy everytime his ship does something.  
  
*My ship!* Jack smiles wider.  
  
The other man is nodding as if he's just figured something out. "Aye," he says softly, still scrutinizing Jack. And then, after another searching look: "Fine! So be it, lad. You came on first and the ship is yours. Why waste her? Better in the hands of a captain that appreciates her than at the bottom of the ocean."  
  
"Aye!" Jack says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, which is more than he actually feels, because he is still not sure what this other man wants or why he is here. "So, then...What?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What do you...You'd like to sail with us, then? Under my command?"  
  
The man takes a deep breath and nods. "Aye. She's bound to be capable of amazing things. I'd not miss the chance. And I'll be wagerin' that ye'll be needin' a first mate, am I right? Or quartermaster?"  
  
"First mate, aye. I've already got a quartermaster. Good man." Though he hasn't yet asked the man he's got in mind, Jack has no doubt he'll say yes.  
  
"Aye. So." He approaches Jack in long, sure strides and holds out his hand. "So then we have an accord, Captain..." He waits for Jack to take his hand and tell his name.  
  
Jack lets him wait for a moment before clasping his hand. He decides that it's high time he uses his real name. High time people start to recognize it. High time it starts to visit ports before he does. "Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. Welcome aboard the *Black Pearl*." Jack doesn't remember having thought that name up, but it's what's come out of his mouth and he feels that it's right.  
  
  
  
*Captain Jack Sparrow!* his mind echoes gleefully. *Sounds lovely! Captain Jack Sparrow! Captain of the Black Pearl.* He tries not to grin like a whelp who's just removed his first bodice from his first wench.  
  
"Oh, *Black Pearl*, is it?" the man says, releasing Jack's hand. "Then we'd best get to shore and tell the crew that we'll be takin' her off their hands."  
  
"Aye, that we should, first mate...Sorry, I didn't catch your name."  
  
And again, a pause and a searching look before he answers. "Barbossa," he says.  
  
"First mate Barbossa, then. After you." He makes a small bow and steps back, gently insisting that Barbossa leave the ship first.   
  
Barbossa nods and turns away to leave. Jack watches him go, and the sails make that sharp, salty *crack* sound again. It seems to Jack like the sound of Fate, or some such whimsical thing.  
  
*Captain Jack Sparrow,* he thinks, now grinning shamelessly. *And his ship, the glorious, fearsome Black Pearl.*  
  
Indeed, his life has become almost unbearably lovely in the space of twelve hours. He finds himself humming as he makes his way to the rowboat, reluctant to leave her deck so soon. But he knows he'll return just as soon as he's publicly proclaimed her as his ship.  
  
What's more, he knows that she'll be his forever. He shall have a good, loyal crew, and they'll defend him and the *Pearl* till the very end.  
  
Jack ties the compass (*her gift to me,*) to his belt before climbing down into the rowboat. He's still singing as he rows back to the docks of Tortuga. 


End file.
